


Mitosis AU

by KittyKatBella



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Autistic Grunkle Ford, For like three years, Mitosis au, Stan is a dad/uncle, dad ford
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-25 15:39:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14381733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyKatBella/pseuds/KittyKatBella
Summary: A collection of one-shots in my Mitosis AU, where Ford accidentally creates a tiny clone of himself who he then raises as a son.





	1. Thirty Years Tomorrow

"Alright Junior, are you ready for bed? Where's your fluffy?"

"Fluffy, Fluffy," Junior murmured, already half asleep. He wandered around the living room, looking for the blanket Bella had given him. He grabbed it off the couch, clutching it in his small hand. "Found it!"

"Ok, now let's-" Ford was cut off by someone knocking on the door. "Junior, stay here."

The boy watched as his dad quickly left the room. Ford grabbed the crossbow in the hallway and opened the front door.

"Who is it?!" He yelled. "Have you come to steal my eyes?!"

Stan had stepped back in shock, his eyes wide.

"Well, I can always count on you for a warm welcome," he said sarcastically. Finally!

"Stanley, did anyone follow you?" Ford asked, glancing around in a panic. "Anyone at all?"

"Eh, hello to you too, pal," Stan deadpanned. He yelled out as Ford pulled him inside by his arm, and again when he shone a small flashlight in his eyes. "Hey!" Stan shoved him back a bit. "What is this?!"

"Sorry, I just had to make sure you weren't-" Ford shook his head. "It's nothing. Come in, come in."

Ford led Stan into the shack, seeming more jittery than ever. Stan looked around, coming to a halt when he saw Junior peeking out from behind the doorway to the other room.

"Uh- Stanford? There's like, a kid-?"

"Junior! I told you to stay in the living room!" Ford sighed, rubbing at his face.

"Sorry," Junior shuffled. "Who's that?"

"You can meet him later," Ford said. He lifted Junior up. "You need to get to bed. I'm sorry Stan, just give me a minute to put him down."

Stan watched in confusion as Ford carried the toddler out of the room. Where the hell had Sixer gotten a kid? Who looks exactly like him? Wasn't he gay? 

Meanwhile, Ford was laying Junior down on his bed. The boy didn't protest; an abundance of nightmares recently had stolen hours of sleep from him at night. And Ford was pretty certain he knew who was behind the phenomenon.

"I don' wanna sleep," Junior mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. "What if I get scared again?"

"You'll be fine," Ford promised, gently pushing Junior's hair back from his face. "But you need to sleep."

"Can I have a story?" Junior asked.

"Not tonight. I'm really busy," Ford said sadly. He kissed the boy's forehead. "Tomorrow night I'll read you a story. I love you, ok? Sleep tight."

"Love you too," Junior yawned, snuggling down into his blankets.

"I'll see you in the morning," Ford said, standing up and turning off the light. He left the toddler's room and went back to the front room, where Stan was still waiting. "Alright, now that he's down-"

"What the hell, Sixer?" Stan blurted out. "You have a kid? How- what- _when?!_ "

"That's a long story that I can't get into right now," Ford said. "There isn't much time. I've made huge mistakes and I don't know who much I can trust anymore."

He grabbed the first journal from the table and held it up.

* * *

Stan stumbled up to the first floor, looking around the dark and rather foreboding house. Ford's house. But not anymore. What was Stan supposed to do? Did he stay here, take his brother's house? Did he try to get him back from... wherever he was? Well, yeah. He had to get him back. There was no doubt about that. But _how_ did he do that? And what did he do in the meantime?

A loud, shrieking cry broke the depressing silence that had settled in the house.

His guess? Take care of the kid Ford had somehow managed to have.

Who was currently bawling his eyes out and tangled in a pile of blankets in his room. Stan flicked the light on and the kid quieted a bit, seeing him. He was still sobbing and was clutching a soft blanket. He seemed scared, though not of Stan. Just... scared.

"Uh- hey, kid," Stan said awkwardly. "You- you ok?"

"Wh-where's Pa?" The boy whimpered. Stan felt something heavy in his heart.

"He... went out," he lied. "But hey, I'm- your uncle, I guess? What's wrong, kid?"

"S-scary," the boy sniffed, rubbing at his tear-stained face. "Th-the triangle."

"Triangle?" Stan looked confused. There's no way this kid knew about the portal-thingy.

"Th-the yellow one," he answered. He made a triangle shape with his fingers- _six fingers,_ Stan noted- and placed it over his eye.

"Oh."

"...c-can I have milk?" The boy asked.

"Uh, yeah, sure," Stan said. The boy crawled out of the bed, dragging the soft blanket behind him. "Hey, what's your name, kid?"

"Junior. Stanford Junior."

Stan was sure he had just heard his heart shatter.

"Of course."


	2. Twin Uncle

Stan rubbed at his eyes as he turned the coffee maker on. He hadn't gotten a bit of sleep last night. He was up all night thinking. About Ford, about how he'd get him back, about what the hell he was supposed to tell his kid. 

How did you even take care of a kid that small, anyways? Stan had no experience with toddlers, no clue what to do. But if Ford could figure it out, Stan was sure he could. After all, Ford was worse with kids than Stan was.

"Hi, Uncle Stan," Junior yawned, rubbing at his eyes and dragging the blanket behind him. "Where's Pa?"

"He's... actually, that's the reason I'm here," Stan faked a smile. "He had to... make a business trip. And he's gonna be gone for awhile. So he asked for me to watch ya."

"Why couldn't Aunt Bella?" Junior asked.

"...who?"

"Daddy's sort of sister," Junior explained. "She came to live with us when Daddy did."

"Uh- I don't know, kid," Stan said. "You can... ask your dad. When he gets back."

"Ok," Junior said and looked around. "Where's breakfast?"

"I'll... get it started."

* * *

Stan read over the journal Ford had tried to get him to take. He looked for something, anything, that would help him fix the portal. While he couldn't exactly leave Junior up here by himself during the day, maybe he could manage to work on the portal at night.

Junior walked up to the couch, holding a sippy cup and a picture book. He crawled onto the couch, sitting against Stan's side as he drank from the cup and opened the book.

"Oh, hey kid," Stan said.

"Hi," Junior responded. Stan smiled slightly, returning to the journal. He felt another one of those heavy feelings in his chest, and he realized it was from remembering that Ford used to do the same thing. Stan would be sitting and Ford would sit right against him and read.

He missed his brother.

Near the end of the journal, he came across an entry that... seemed to explain a lot.

_October 16th_

_There's been an accident! While finishing up the cloning machine, I... tripped and fell in. I should probably clean my work space more often. Or not leave books and supplies all over the floor. F was right; I should get some bookshelves._

_Anyways. I was unable to escape before the machine began to clone me. So now there is a small, younger me growing inside it... The process is quite fascinating, actually. The most complex thing I've ever cloned was an apple. Humans are a whole different organism._

_October 17th_

_The development process is coming along nicely. The machine works so that the organism develops to young in about two days. For humans or animals, this means that once the clone reaches the age at which they were birthed, they are ready to enter the world._

_I've been very busy getting ready for an infant to be staying in the house. I set up a temporary spot for it to sleep in my room, but there's another room that, once I have the chance, I'll be able to fully decorate for the baby to stay._

_October 18th_

_Is this what is feels like to be a parent...? I just love him so much already..._

_Ok, well, the development was a success. He turned out just fine, an exact copy, only younger. Nothing seems to be missing, and he's breathing and eating normally. I believe it would only be right to announce this machine a success!_

_Although, I feel like I might avoid this particular experiment for awhile..._

_He's sleeping in the crib right now. I haven't gotten a bit of rest in the past two days, what with the panicked preparations. It feels nice to finally sit and relax. And... I know he's only me as a newborn, but... I love him._

_My little Junior..._

Well. That explained where Junior came from. Leave it to Ford to accidentally clone himself. But also, Stan was a bit surprised Ford was able to keep _two_ of him alive. The man could barely cook mac and cheese. Yet Junior seemed pretty well taken care of.

Said boy yawned, closing his book and setting it aside. He curled up beside Stan and closed his eyes, sucking on his sippy cup. Stan smiled softly, ruffling his hair.

In all his life, Stan never thought he'd become an uncle to his twin brother.


	3. Triple Digits Truck Stop

Junior looked around the truck stop diner, clutching Ford's hand. They had been here so many times recently. Junior was unsure why, but they did have really good pancakes, so he was happy. They sat in a booth and Junior lightly flapped his hands as he smiled and kept looking around.

"What do you want, Junior?" Ford asked, looking over the menu. He rubbed at his eyes. "Pancakes?

"Pancakes!" Junior grinned. "Pancakes pancakes pancakes..."

"And milk to drink?"

"Milk please!"

"Ok," Ford yawned. He squinted at the menu, but couldn't seem to focus on the words. No matter. He only ever got the same thing.

Six cups in, and Ford could still barely stay awake. He sat his head in his hand, barely keeping his eyes opened as he watched Junior. He had finished his breakfast somewhere around Ford's fourth cup of coffee, and he was clearly becoming bored.

"Can we go yet?" Junior asked.

"Not yet," Ford sighed, looking into his empty coffee cup. "Maybe one more cup."

Junior groaned, getting out of the booth and starting to wander around the diner. Ford didn't even notice, as he was nearly falling asleep where he sat. He jumped into consciousness when he heard Junior speak from behind him.

"Are you gonna finish that?"

He turned to see Junior standing at the table behind them, pointing at a man's plate of bacon.

"Junior!" Ford sighed, standing up and grabbing his hand. "I'm-" he yawned, "-so sorry, sir."

"No trouble," the man chuckled. "Here you go, little man."

Junior lit up as the man handed him a piece of bacon. He happily ate it, holding on to Ford's hand.

"What do we-" yawn, "-say, Junior?"

"Thank you!" The boy chirped.

"I see you're having some shutter trouble," the trucker said. "You want some advice?"

"Anything," Ford looked desperate. The man chuckled and motioned to the seat across the table. Ford lifted Junior up and sat down, holding him in his lap.

"You could pinch yourself," the man began. "Or pinch someone else, usually they'll punch you awake. Or you could put peanut butter on your face and let a dog ride shotgun; he'll lick you awake. Put peppers in your eyes."

Ford nodded intently, stifling a yawn.

_"Just give up, Sixer."_

Ford started with a panic, blinking rapidly. He tightened his hold on Junior, quickly standing up. He heard the plate of bacon go crashing to the floor, and suddenly everyone in the diner was watching him, him, him. Except...

It wasn't them.

It was _Bill._

Ford stumbled backwards towards the door, clutching Junior to his chest.

"GET OUT OF MY MIND, CIPHER!" Ford screamed, running out of the diner. He bolted in the direction of home, but eventually he collapsed in a motel parking lot.

Junior was crying by now, and Ford was trying to think and catch his breath. His mind ran blank, unable to think of a single thing. He panted, slamming his hands over his ears and digging his fingers into his hair.

_Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium..._

He wasn't going to get anything done unless he had some _quiet._

"Junior!" He exclaimed, cutting off the stream of crying and screaming. The boy sniffed and looked up at his dad, shaking slightly. "Junior..." Ford gently cupped his face with both hands, using his thumbs to wipe at the tears. "Please. I-I need qui-quiet. O-ok? P-please?"

Junior hiccuped and nodded. Ford pulled him into his lap, gently rubbing his back.

"Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium," Ford murmured quietly, rocking back and forth with Junior. "Boron, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen." He looked up at the motel sign, focusing on the word 'Twin' in 'Twin Bed Motel'. "Fluorine, neon, sodium, magnesium..."

Twin.

Ford knew who he needed to call.


	4. Nicknames

He started off as Junior. Nothing special; just plain old Stanford Junior. But not Stanford, or Ford, or even Stan, because that’s his dad’s name, and they don’t want to be confused.

His dad starts calling him buddy in moments of quiet. When it’s bedtime or they’re reading together or watching a movie. When Junior is tired or sad. But his dad isn’t the nickname type, so it’s only ever, sometimes, buddy.

His other dad, who only becomes his other dad when he’s nearly three years old, he has a lot of nicknames. Sweetie, buddy, honey, hon, sweetheart, lil’ guy- Junior didn’t particularly like that one. It made him feel small, but he _was_ small, so it wasn’t too big of a deal. He liked the nicknames, they made him feel special.

After his dads get in a fight and his pa- his first dad- after he leaves, and Uncle Stan starts looking after him, the nicknames are more… silly. Kid, or kiddo, or goober, at one point. Sometimes Junior thinks he’d forgotten his name; he only ever calls him by nicknames. Unless he was in trouble, or Uncle Stan was scared about him. For thirty years, it’s kid or kiddo. Even though he keeps reminding him that he wasn’t a kid, he was 15, 20, 30.

After his dad comes back, the nickname isn’t there. They’re distant- or, rather, Junior avoids him as much as he can. He knows it wasn’t his fault he wasn’t there, wasn’t his fault that he had been gone for so long. But Junior can’t let go of that feeling. That his dad had practically abandoned him.

It’s not buddy again for a long time. Not until after the summer, after Weirdmaggedon, after Junior almost loses his dad and realizes that he doesn’t _want_ him to go away again. That he wants him _there._ It’s not buddy until just before him and Uncle Stan have to leave, to go around the world. And his dad- his dad looks like he instantly regrets saying it, and he looks nervous. But Junior only sobs and hugs him- hugs him for the first time in thirty years, for the first time he can clearly remember.

It’s buddy again after his dad gets back, when he’s staying at the mansion with his other dad. It’s buddy again when he’s spending time at the house, getting to know Junior’s daughter, playing with Susie and catching up on all the moments he missed. It’s buddy when they’re sitting out on the Mystery Shack porch, telling stories, regretting all the years they missed.

It’s buddy again when Junior finally, _finally_ calls Ford “Dad” again.


	5. Camping

“Ow! Junior, stop pulling on my hair!”

“Sorry,” the boy smiled. He was riding in a carrier on Ford’s back as he and Fiddleford hiked up the pass. He looked around, holding onto Ford’s shoulders and rocking back and forth slightly.

“This place is kind'a neat, ain’t it, Junior?” Fiddleford asked with a smile.

“Neat!” Junior chirped happily. “Where’re we goin’, Pa?”

“Right now, to the lake,” Ford said. “But our final destination is a place I call Crash Site Omega. I found it before you were born. You remember everything you’ve read about aliens?”

“Yeah! They’re from space and they’re real smart and weird-lookin’,” Junior said.

“They’re real,” Ford smiled. Junior gasped loudly and Ford winced.

“They are?!” Junior grinned. “No way!”

“Yes way,” Ford laughed. “And we’re going to their ship. They have some things there that we need for our project.”

“Are we gonna get to meet aliens, Pa?” Junior asked, leaning his head forward to set on Ford’s shoulder.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Ford said. “They’re not there anymore; just their ship.”

“Aww,” Junior pouted.

“Maybe someday, buddy,” Ford smiled encouragingly and ruffled the boy’s hair. He giggled, waving his hand away. Ford looked over at Fiddleford, who was panting and struggling to keep up. “Are you ok, Fiddleford?”

“No, Ah’m- Ah’m fine,” Fiddleford lied. “Just a- bit tired.”

“We can stop if you want,” Ford offered. “It’s about lunch time anyways.”

“Yeah,” Fiddleford sighed. “Alright.”

The two of them settled by the side of the path, using a knocked-over tree as a bench. Ford pulled Junior out of the carrier and set him down beside him. Fiddleford passed out drinks and sandwiches. They all began to eat quietly, and Fiddleford took the break to draw a diagram in the dirt with a stick of what looked like robot legs.

Junior watched him and finished his sandwich. He then grabbed a stick and sat down on the ground beside Fiddleford, making his own doodle. The southerner smiled, watching Junior work.

“What'cha drawin’, Junior?” Fiddleford asked.

“I think… a duck,” Junior answered.

“It’s a real good duck,” Fiddleford said. “Yer a good artist.”

Junior grinned and set the sit down, admiring the drawing.

“…hey, does anyone else smell maple syrup and bacon?” Ford asked. Just then, a small, plaid-colored creature waddled out from the nearby bushes and approached the family. He went for Fiddleford’s sandwich, trying to get a bite.

“Hey there, lil’ fella,” Fiddleford smiled, tearing off a small piece of his sandwich and feeding it to the animal.

“A plaidypus!” Ford gasped, quickly pulling out his journal.

“A what?”

“Plaidypus,” Ford repeated. “I thought it was only a legend. ‘The source of all lumberjacks’ jackets’. But it’s real!”

“Ooooh!” Junior looked at the plaidypus as it ate. Ford carefully sketched it out on a page in his journal. It sniffed around a bit before leaving, just in time for Ford to have finished his drawing. “Bye bye, Mr. Plaidypus!”

* * *

“Let’s stop for the night.”

“Finally,” Fiddleford sighed, dropping his backpack to the ground. They were at the top of Gravity Peak, and the sun was just starting to set. Ford placed Junior on the ground and moved to help Fiddleford set up the tent. After they finished, Junior, wanting to help, dragged the sleeping bags inside and tossed them over the floor of the tent.

“I’m hungry,” Junior said, sitting in the pile of fabric.

“We’ll get the fire goin’ an’ cook somethin’ up,” Fiddleford said.

“Yay!” Junior cheered, crawling out of the tent.

Soon, the fire was burning and Ford and Fiddleford were cooking the food. Junior snacked on a s'more as he waited, chocolate and melted marshmallow staining his face and fingers. He licked the sweets off his fingers before Fiddleford used a wet wipe to clean him off.

“Yer worse than yer father, honestly,” he sighed, wiping the marshmallow from Junior’s mouth.

“It’s yummy!” Junior protested.

“Ah know it’s yummy, but yer makin’ a mess'a yerself,” Fiddleford said, stuffing the wet wipe in a plastic bag in the backpack.

“He’s going to make a bigger mess with the beans, you know,” Ford said.

“Well, he’s a toddler, sure he is,” Fiddleford shrugged.

After the three of them finished eating, they sat down to look at the stars. Junior was half asleep, resting in Ford’s lap, but wanting to stay awake. He looked up at the sky, clinging to one of Ford’s arms.

“That one’s Orion, Junior,” Ford pointed at the constellation. “You see those three stars right there?”

“Mm-hm,” Junior nodded.

“Well look around them and you can see Orion’s body, and his arm and bow,” Ford said. Junior nodded again and yawned. Ford smiled softly, pulling his coat further over Junior. “Maybe we should get you to bed, buddy.”

“Noooo,” Junior whined.

“C'mon lil’ guy, you need yer sleep,” Fiddleford agreed. “Look at'cha, yer about ta pass out already!”

Ford stood up, shifting Junior to hold him in his arms. He set him in the tent, wrapped him in the toddler-sized sleeping bag. Junior yawned, clutching his fluffy blanket and burying his face in it. Ford smiled softly, pushing back his hair a bit and leaning down to kiss his forehead.

“Goodnight, buddy.”

“G'night, Daddy.”


	6. He's Not Coming Back

"Uncle Stan? When is Pa supposed to come back?"

"...soon, I think. I guess it was just a... long business trip, Junior."

Junior lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. His hands were bundled inside his fluffy blanket, feeling the material as he thought. After a few minutes, Tate entered the room with a bag of potato chips.

"Hey, Junior," he greeted, sitting on his own bed. "You ok?"

"...no," Junior said.

"What's wrong?" Tate asked, eating from the bag.

"...I-I'm startin' to think that... my pa ain't back," Junior said quietly.

"Whaddya mean?"

"Uncle Stan has said the same thing for _seven years._ 'He's on a business trip'," Junior began. "I don'... I don' think he's tellin' the truth, Tate."

"Well, where else would yer dad be?" Tate asked.

"...w-what if he left?" Junior asked, his voice starting to break. "Wha-what if he left me? Be-because... I-I don't know!"

"Oh," Tate frowned. "I'm sorry, bro..."

Junior sniffed, wiping at his eyes.

"Th-there's no other reason, really," he said. "Wh-why else would- would Uncle Stan lie f-for so long? W-we know what happened ta Dad... Is it really a coincidence that Pa left a-at the same time? They were f-fightin'... Pa was stressed... m-maybe he left. I-I don' know why- but he left _me_."

Tate shifted awkwardly before going over to his brother and sitting down, hugging him. Junior let out a sob, burying his face in Tate's shoulder.

"...d-d'you think he left 'cause I'm a... I'm a freak?"

"What? No!" Tate denied, pulling Junior back to look at him. "Why would ya think that?" Junior shrugged halfheartedly and looked away. "Didn' he have six fingers, too?"

"That's the thing!" Junior cried. "I-I don' know! I-I can't remember anythin' about him, Tate! A-all I remember is him havin' yellow eyes and he was real stressed a-and then one day he just- wasn' there! An' I don't know why!"

"Oh..."

Junior sniffed and took off his glasses, wiping at the wet marks on his face.

"Well hey, if he didn' want ta know ya, that's his lose," Tate said firmly. "You're real cool, Junior."

"R-really?"

"Best brother I could ever ask for," Tate smiled, playfully shoving the younger boy. Junior laughed, sniffing and drying his eyes. He looked away at the floor, smiling softly.

"Thanks, Tate," he said.

"Anytime, bro."


End file.
